


Notice Us Not

by realjane



Series: Relentless (Hogwarts Era series) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane
Summary: Hermione makes him an offer, following their interlude in Hogsmeade. But he can't give her the high ground. He has to keep some of the power. Right? ...Draco doesn't know *what* he wants.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Relentless (Hogwarts Era series) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081031
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	Notice Us Not

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of my Relentless series! This is meant to take place right after 'I'm Relentless'. Enjoy!

Nobody knew.

How was it possible that not one single person knew that she had ambushed him in the middle of Hogsmeade, _kissed him,_ of all ridiculous stupid things, and crawled under his coat and into his soul and tap danced in every chamber of his squeezing heart as if it wasn’t already busy--and was now sitting beside him in Ancient Runes (nobody took the stupid class except eighth year cads and boys trying to isolate from the rest of Slytherin and _Hermione Granger,_ apparently), with her hand beside _but not touching_ his hand, as if she had any right?

How had nobody noticed?

He was neon with noticing. Stupid bint. Just around when nobody asked her to be around, making little noises she surely didn’t realize she was making--humming, maybe?--and in his space. He’d show her. He’d make her understand the discomfort of being infringed upon by a know-it-all with such soft lips-- _focus, idiot!_

His pinky finger inched closer to hers. Then, the tips of his slim fingers slipped under the curve of her palm. _My hand, my space. You can remain anywhere other than this, but from this point to my body, all mine--hey!_ Small digits slotted between his and squeezed.

The _audacity!_ Draco glanced to the side, but the Hufflepuffs one table over had their heads together over their textbook, and nobody was behind them to speculate. Draco cleared his throat. The little hand squeezed. 

Then she let go. Her hand settled in her lap, smoothing her skirt to the hem, which cut across her thighs just above the knee _(Merlin’s ghost, the rumors are true--she has knees!)_ , and came to rest on top of the table.

_But… now, that’s not fair. We hadn’t even had the chance to discuss the terms of sharing the bench space!_

He snatched her wrist back again, this time holding it in his fist. Draco didn’t look at her, but she sucked in quickly. At a different time he would experiment how to replicate that little sound. Instead, he turned her hand so the back rested on his leg. She was virtually ignoring him. Well. That wouldn’t do. _This is all very one-sided._

The skin at her wrist was so soft as to rival her lips for languidness. A one-for-one comparison would not be unwelcome, as experiments go. Someone would be bound to notice _that._ How had _he_ never noticed how long her fingers were? Delicate, elegant even. He knew from elegant. Her nails had been filed into almond curves and they were--oh. They were polished with a pearlescent paint. It was faint enough that unless someone was scrutinizing her hands, they wouldn’t notice. 

_Oh._

_Unless someone was scrutinizing her… they wouldn’t notice._

Unless they were looking for it… a preference, an affinity for, well, inserting herself into his space and person, they probably wouldn’t notice. She was subtle. She had no design on drawing attention to him. Or them. 

_Should’ve been a Slytherin._ She laughed lightly. He paled. _Didn’t mean to say that out loud..._

“Any particular reason you’re squeezing the life out of my wrist?” she whispered.

“Stuff it.”

“Mhm.” She tried to tug her hand away, but he held fast.

“Malfoy.”

“What do you want?” His gaze shot to her face. He breathed in sharply. Had he actually looked at her one time since she sat down beside him, he would’ve noticed that _today,_ she had braided her hair. It was pulled over one shoulder, which made her neck look so long… she had this thing about her where she seemed like she should be much taller than she was, because she carried herself like nothing could touch her, and maybe nothing could--Draco’s free hand was hovering next to her cheek. He slowly retracted his hand. Her cheeks were flushed.

She raised an eyebrow. “Last week, you told me to stop touching you.”

He frowned. _“Last week,_ you kissed me!”

“You kissed me back.”

No way out of that accusation. He most certainly had. And then he had allowed her to pull him back to the castle, where he had kissed her again under the great stone archway, before dashing off to the owlery to tell his father that he was _out. Out, out._ Still… the pain of what he had gotten in response to that letter was dampened by the fact that this girl knew what he was like when he let himself just _feel._

She picked up her wand and flicked. A disillusionment charm surrounded them. _Notice us not._ She turned to him fully, pulling her leg up on the bench. Her calf was hugged in a cable-knit grey sock, with a band of yellow and crimson at the top. Cable-knit, for winter.

“What’s going on?” she asked softly. 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. I’ve been trying to talk to you all week. You’ve got purple rings around your eyes, I’m surprised you’re still upright.” She had that look. The one that said she wasn’t going to leave it alone unless he relented. “Never learned to mind my own business,” she said. She squeezed his fingers.

Draco reached into the pocket of his robes and produced the letter, which had made it explicitly clear where his father--just Lucius, not Narcissa, not the woman who loved him, who raised him, who routinely sent him owls just to ask if he had gotten any sleep--stood when it came to his future. Hermione took it from him before he could hide it away again. He let her have her hand back, but he busied his own by gripping the hem of her skirt hard enough to rend it if she suddenly bolted from the bench. She touched her mouth. Her eyes darted back and forth. She digested the banishment… 

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated. She held up a hand. When she raised her head, Draco felt all the blood in his head rush to his feet. Her eyes were watery. She folded the paper again, along the well-worn creases he had created from opening and closing the stupid note so many times. He snatched it from her grasp and tried to turn away… but suddenly his chest was engulfed by a tiny brunette with surprisingly strong arms.

She sniffled. “I--”

“Please don’t.” Draco’s hands remained at her knees. 

“But…”

“What?” 

She ran her nails up his back, which sent an array of tingles to his scalp. “You don’t have to do it… this, I mean, _go through this…_ gods, I couldn’t sound more desperate…” She sat back. She looked up at him, determination set in her jaw. “You have me. So.”

His soul left his body. It rose above him and looked down, glaring at her, feeling all the abject frustration and pent up grief he had been tamping away… while Draco, the wizard sitting in front of this witch, just blinked. 

She hesitantly touched his cheek. “If you want.”

He had a choice. How long had it been since he actually got to decide something? Accept her… friendship, or not. Let her touch him, or not. Kiss her, or not. Be noticed. Or not. When had anyone ever asked him what _he wanted?_

“For how long?” he found himself asking. “Until… what?”

She shrugged. 

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know.”

He sighed. “Why, Granger?”

She shrugged again. “I haven’t overanalyzed it.” But a wrinkle formed between her brows, and it made it very clear that she spent a _lot_ of time considering her choices, what she did and why. And he was part of that consideration. She was a fool, and he would be foolish to accept her offer for that reason. 

And yet, in the last week since her intervention in Hogsmeade, he was lousy with Granger. He bumped into her in the library, outside Potions, fetching gloves from the supply closet in Herbology. She was _everywhere._ Bloody Gryffindor determination.

“You already sit next to me in nearly every class,” he breathed. “I can’t turn around without you being there. You’re practically stalking me--”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to feel chosen?” she said simply. “I know it would for me. And. To have something which didn’t belong to anyone else, to… to heal a little bit. Get a little absolution where we can.” 

“And you think what I want is… what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Draco sat back. He pulled her hand from his cheek. He flicked his wand and the charm dissipated. The sounds from their classmates filtered back in as they answered Professor Babbling’s questions, and Hermione sighed heavily. She turned away from him. Her shoulders hunched forward.

She didn’t hear when the Professor called on her, and when she realized everyone was staring at her, she didn’t have the answer. Her cheeks flushed immediately, she began to stammer, but nothing came out. He noticed several students titter to one another. Heat flared in his chest.

“It comes from the Futhark translation,” Draco said quickly. “Granger wouldn’t shut up about it. _Know-it-all.”_

Professor Babbling nodded, but ignored his pointed remark. “Quite right, Mister Malfoy. Your partner is correct. That particular translation comes from Elder Futhark, which, as you know--”

He nudged her knee. Her chin tilted towards him slightly. “Thanks,” she breathed.

Draco stared at his textbook until the runes swirled into nothingness, a big jumble of ancient ramblings about sheep or some such thing, pondering her offer. _Get a little absolution where we can._ Is that the sort of thing she could give him? _Her?_ She was smart, but she wasn’t thinking straight. 

But.

What if he could have one good thing? Just one. A nugget. A glimmer. What if he could reach out and not be left wanting? Just one thing. A person--a girl, who he could no longer pretend he didn’t want to drag behind a tapestry and kiss again. Even if he hadn’t been followed all week by this particular girl, he still would’ve seen her around every corner. Every time he closed his eyes… there she was. 

The class drew to a close, but she remained, still as stone. Draco gathered up his belongings, shoving them unceremoniously into his own pack. He bustled out of the room, letting the door slam against the wall as he left. He sat on the railing a few doors down, which created a new traffic pattern through the courtyard to avoid him, leaving a three yard square bit of hallway unoccupied just for him. Then, once Professor Babbling had tottered off in search of lunch, and the rest of the class had filed out, Hermione appeared in the doorway. She most certainly wasn’t crying. He definitely wasn’t waiting for her, and most of all, he wasn’t trying to stop himself from reaching out and tugging her to his side.

He upset her. He embarrassed her in front of the class, didn’t give her an answer--his stomach clenched. She was just going to give up without a fight? How very un-Granger of her. Not even a little fight? And _tears?_ A waste of her bright brown eyes.

His head swiveled around as she passed. “Granger.” She halted abruptly, but kept her gaze trained forward. He couldn’t help the smirk pulling at his mouth.

“I study in the Astronomy tower after supper, if it’s all the same to you.”

She sniffled. “What are you studying? Maybe I’m not interested--”

“Absolution.”

Hermione Granger shook her head. Her curls were escaping from her braid, or _trying,_ and they wafted around her face in a halo. But she smiled. It was a soft thing. “My best subject,” she whispered.

“What _isn’t?”_ he spat. She wrinkled her nose. Her gaze darted to his. He dared her in a hard stare to say something else, to question him, but she didn’t. She hiked her book bag up on her shoulder a bit higher. He flicked his wand and her bag instantly lightened. Then, he sleeved it. He laid his head back against the stone and shut his eyes, folding his hands over his bag. 

The faintest brush touched his jaw, and then it was gone. When he opened his eyes again, Granger was nowhere to be found, but his skin tingled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm in quarantine and fending off some mild symptoms, and this is a fun distraction from that. I don't have the brain power for much else! Whee!


End file.
